Carrying On
by Cdnacho98
Summary: Some time after Uther's death. Merlin's late. Again. But Arthur is never getting rid of him because Merlin is the one to get him through the grief, and he is going to be there no matter what. A short about the aftermath of Uther's death, and Arthur's grief after the loss. My first fanfic so please go easy on me! I don't own Merlin.


Arthur sighed. Merlin was late. Again. Usually, Arthur was quick to write it off, and let Merlin off with a reprimand (and a pillow to the face). But it had been happening a lot lately.

Come to think of it, Arthur couldn't even remember the last time Merlin _hadn't_ been late.

Loathe as he was to admit it, Arthur missed the bumbling idiot.

True, less slop buckets sloshed over and less dishes broke when he wasn't around, but there was also less noise. Less noise gave more space for thinking. And thinking was something Arthur was trying not to do as of late, given where his mind went whenever Merlin wasn't around to fill the silence with his incessant chatter.

The smell of death still emanated from the king's bedroom. The _late_ king, he reminded himself. Despite his title, the new king had very stubbornly insisted on remaining in his old quarters, and they were just fine, thank you very much. The thought of residing in the room his father had been stabbed in, sleeping in the bed he'd _died_ in...Arthur shuddered. The very thought repulsed him, and he had forbidden all from entering the room.

The bedclothes were still creased and rumpled. The glass of water that had been on the bedside table was still on the bedside table. Everything looked the same as it had, as though its previous inhabitant had just left the room for a stroll...not that Uther had ever done anything as mundane as taking a _stroll_.

Yes. Everything looked the same, even after the world had turned on its axis.

The only changes in place were the missing water pitcher, and the small, simple, and strategically placed throw rug that covered a certain red spot on the floor, a grudging compromise that had been made between Merlin and Arthur after Arthur had reduced a foolish but well meaning young maid to tears when he'd found her hard at work, trying to scrub the rusty bloodstain out of the stone floor.

Arthur winced. He could still see the young girl's wide eyes welling up with tears, the puddle of soapy water spreading on the floor after she'd knocked over her bucket in her haste to escape.

He could hear the terrible shouts that had come from his mouth, the sound of the water pitcher shattering after Arthur had smashed it.

And he could feel...he could feel the hot anger coursing through him, burning him, the pain in his chest. He could feel the tremors running through his arms all the way down to his fists, clenched tightly to control his fury.

And it was because Arthur could still feel that he could not ever let Merlin go, no matter what he may be guilty of.

Because Arthur could feel his servant's skinny but surprisingly strong arms restraining him from behind, pulling him over to the desk chair to sit down. He could feel the hand with the damp washcloth cleaning the cuts on Arthur's hands that the glass had made, mopping off the blood that Arthur had not even noticed welling inside the cuts.

He could hear Merlin's voice, ringing suddenly with authority, ordering the crowd of onlookers to leave the room, and the slam of the door when they pressed forward.

And he could see...he could see his servant, his _friend, _hunching down on the ground, hugging his knees, looking unusually somber. He could see the pain in Merlin's eyes that Arthur knew was only for him, because Uther had never been kind to Merlin...far from it.

He could see him sitting there quietly, saying nothing when Arthur finally wept, the first time since his father's death.

It was only then that Arthur had finally believed things would get better, because he knew that he wasn't alone.

"Daydreaming about dinner again, are we?"

Arthur snapped out of his reverie to find Merlin there, food tray in hand, grinning widely.

"I'll just leave bring this back to the kitchens," he continued, "since it doesn't look like you're awake enough to enjoy it."

"Merlin!" Arthur growled, "Give it here!" He lunged for the tray, but Merlin snatched it out of reach, and stared at the king in feigned shock.

"Sire, have you been awake this whole time?" Merlin gave an exaggerated bow. "I apologize for the misunderstanding." The dinner tray was tipping dangerously close to the floor now.

Rolling his eyes, Arthur grabbed the tray, saving the food from tumbling off it just in time. He looked down at the plate, deliberating. Knowing what was coming, Merlin backed away, but was not quick enough to duck the mutton chop Arthur threw at him, and it splattered his hair and tunic with thick gravy.

He hadn't thrown hard enough to really hurt Merlin, but it would definitely leave a nice purple bruise for a couple of days.

It was Arthur's turn to look at Merlin in mock surprise. "Merlin! I didn't see you there!" Arthur shook his head regretfully. "I can't have my manservant attending me in such a sloppy state. I guess you'll just have to muck out the horses today."

Merlin blanched. But Arthur wasn't finished. "It's too bad," he said sadly, "I was going to have you help me select the dessert menu for tomorrow night's feast. I know how much you love chocolate pastries." Merlin scowled. Arthur pretended not to notice. He heaved a dramatic sigh, and shrugged his shoulders. "Get to it, then."

Grumbling under his breath, Merlin turned to leave.

"Next time don't be late," Arthur called after his retreating back.

"Dollophead." Merlin muttered, loud enough for Arthur to hear.

Arthur smiled. Yes, things were definitely getting better.


End file.
